


Suddenly this defeat, This rain

by Gooseberrybrains



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Weather, Community: hp_drizzle, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Getting Together, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Minor Violence, Post-Hogwarts, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Weather Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gooseberrybrains/pseuds/Gooseberrybrains
Summary: A weeks long storm of mysterious origins brings more than just a headache for Hermione Granger. It also brings Draco Malfoy back into her life and her heart in a way she never expected.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 30
Kudos: 145
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my fabulous beta and my super cheerleaders that helped me get this beast of a story finished on time!

_Suddenly this defeat._

_This rain._

_The blues gone gray_

_And yellow_

_A terrible amber._

_In the cold streets_

_Your warm body._

_In whatever room_

_Your warm body._

_Among all the people_

_Your absence_

_The people who are always_

_Not you._

\- Jack Gilbert

* * *

**Part 1**

**Hermione**

It was dark. The kind of darkness that seemed impenetrable even with the brightest of lights. Now darkness itself wasn’t anything alarming, but this blackest night had no end. It came with the clouds and the sort of thunderstorms that shook buildings and caused rivers to form in the streets. At first, no one batted an eye — it was England after all, and so there was nothing unusual about a treacherous storm. It only became alarming when it didn’t stop. The clouds didn’t lift, and the rain never slowed. The dark gloom cast over them was only ever illuminated by the repeated flashes of lightning forking down through the sky.

Hermione Granger stood in her flat watching the floodwaters rise ever higher in the streets, carrying refuse and an assortment of personal belongings that were unfortunate enough to get caught up in the currents. Her frown deepened as she watched a large plastic reindeer float downstream. She thought, not for the first time, that it was lucky wizards could put water-repelling spells on their homes and anything else they didn’t want getting washed away. Otherwise, they would all have had to evacuate by now as the muggles had to do outside of the Wizarding communities. 

She turned away from the window, heading into the kitchen to put the kettle on. A quick glance at the clock over the stove told her it was nearing eight AM, yet by the sky outside one would think it was the middle of the night. Hermione muttered to herself even as she flinched when another deafening crack of thunder rattled her teacups. She hurriedly spooned tea leaves into a pot before bustling into her library and returning with several books tucked into her arms. Hermione sat down at her small kitchen table and pushed aside The Daily Prophet, ignoring the front page that was plastered with moving images of water swelling and wizards scrambling to save their belongings. This storm was unprecedented and the odd darkness that had fallen over them along with it was truly bizarre. Hermione couldn’t help but think that it must be magical in nature because it sure didn’t seem  _ natural _ at all. She skimmed over a passage that talked about how it rained herring in 12th century Burgundy and wrinkled her nose. There didn’t seem to be anything in any of these books about a never-ending storm that kept the sky black as pitch for days on end. Truthfully, Hermione knew that such a thing just didn’t exist. Most storms caused the sky to darken when the clouds blocked out the sun but daylight was still daylight. And while it could rain for days on end, there was usually an occasional break in the precipitation. She also knew that there was a small Norwegian town where the sun didn’t rise at all for months, though Great Britain was not far enough north for such occurrences. There was just no logical explanation that she could find and in her years of experience that usually meant magic was involved somehow. 

Hermione huffed in frustration and pushed aside her cold tea, rising from the table and gathering her books. In a matter of minutes, she arrived though the Ministry floo and pushed past the crowd congregating in the main lobby. Wizards and witches alike were speaking in loud, alarmed voices — each of them with the same concern. 

“My cat was washed away!” One elderly witch exclaimed.

“This is unnatural!” A tall, thin man with greying hair protested. “What are we supposed to do if it never stops?”

Hermione kept her head down lest she be recognized by the group and hurried to the elevators. She jabbed impatiently at the button and nodded curtly at the little blonde witch she joined when the doors opened. The elevator creaked and groaned as it made its way down and Hermione chewed her lip, listening to the disembodied voice announcing the floors. Finally, the doors opened on the lowest level as the voice proclaimed  _ “Level 10, Department of Mysteries.” _ She followed the narrow corridor until she came to an unmarked door and opened it with a wave of her wand, walking into the Unspeakables offices. 

“Hi Penelope,” Hermione greeted the receptionist distractedly as she rushed by and made her way to her own small office. She kicked the door closed with the toe of her ballet flat as she went by and dropped her books onto her desk with a sigh before turning to her bookshelves. With a sound of triumph, Hermione snatched up a thick leather-bound tome titled “ _ Finding the Origins of Magical Phenomena _ ” and plopped down in her seat to crack it open. It seemed to her that she had been going about this all wrong from the beginning. Everyone was focused on the storm as being the source of the problem but no one had stopped to think that it might actually be a side effect of some other magic. If she could trace it to its origin, she might be able to learn enough to figure out how to stop it — or at least, that was her hope. Hermione’s brow furrowed as she skimmed through the book, hoping to find something that might help in all this. She let out a puff of air, blowing a lock of hair out of her face before setting the book down on the desk and getting up again. In a matter of minutes, she was out of the Department of Mysteries and riding up the elevator to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione strode through the Auror bullpen, not stopping to do more than nod at the people she passed until she reached the head Auror office. She tapped lightly on the door frame, and Harry looked up in surprise, his face splitting into a grin when he saw her. 

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, waving her inside. “What brings you out of the basement?”

Hermione gestured to the magical window which was still showing a sky as black as pitch and rivulets of water streaming down the glass. “I’m trying to solve this hellish weather we’ve been having. It’s unnatural and quite frankly people are starting to panic.”

“Right?!” Harry said, his green eyes going large behind his glasses. “I can’t tell you what a disaster it’s been trying to manage patrols in this. Thank Merlin no one even wants to go out in it long enough to get up to trouble!” He paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “But what exactly brings you up here? I don’t see how we can help with a magical storm.”

“Well,” Hermione began, taking a deep breath.

“Oh no,” Harry interrupted, groaning. “I sense a big lecture coming on.”

Hermione scowled at him, swatting his arm as he laughed. “This is important, Harry!” she scolded. 

“Okay, okay, I know. Go on, I promise I’ll listen,” Harry said though he was still laughing.

She huffed in annoyance, rolling her eyes at him. “I was thinking… This whole time that we’ve been trying to find a cause to this storm, assuming it must be a magical creation — but I think we’ve been focusing on the wrong thing. I think that the storm is a side effect to some other type of magic.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You’ve lost me.”

Hermione sighed and dropped into the chair in front of his desk. “I’m saying that I think the constant darkness and the rain are all happening because of something else going on. That maybe the point was never to have a huge never-ending storm.” At Harry’s continued puzzlement, Hermione took a deep breath and leaned forward intently. “When I was a kid and didn’t have control of my magic yet, I once got so upset that I made it hail in my sitting room. And don’t you remember that time during first year where you turned the lights out in all of Gryffindor tower when Parvati accidentally walked in on you in the bathroom?”

Harry flushed at the memory but shook his head. “Are you saying a child is doing this? No accidental magic can be that strong.”

“Not a child, no,” Hermione agreed. “But I do believe that it’s accidental magic of a sort. I think it’s being caused by someone, even if they don’t know they’re doing it.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “And where does the DMLE come into it?”

Hermione smiled broadly. “You have the ability to trace magical signatures, do you not? If I can link the source of the magic to a specific person or even a location, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out the rest.”

“I admit that most of that didn’t make much sense to me, but tracking magic signatures I can do!” Harry said with a grin. 

***

The rain had finally stopped, and while that should have been a relief, it wasn’t. Now it was snowing, the white haze making the darkness even more impenetrable. London didn’t get much snow even in the dead of winter, but it was certainly odd to see it in August. If there had been any question left over whether this was a magical occurrence, this certainly answered it. The only benefit, in Hermione’s opinion, was that the snow at least wasn’t accumulating — it dissolved into nothing as soon as it touched down. 

Hermione was once again frowning out into the blackness outside her window. This had been going on for what felt like ages now. She had been trying to pin down a signature on the magic for nearly a week, but it was slow progress. The trouble was that it didn’t read like a regular spell. Nor was it anything like the standard accidental magic that the misuse of magic office was often tracking in underaged wizards and witches. It was extremely frustrating to know that she was so close to an answer and yet still so far from it. 

She moved away from the window and threw herself down on the sofa, feeling petulant. She was missing something. She had to be. This magic was complicated — almost so woven together that it looked like…  _ wards.  _ But that was ridiculous. How could any sort of accidental magic or really any kind of weather charm look that way? Hermione bolted upright again as an idea struck her. If what she was looking at mimicked the complexity of wards then what she needed was a curse breaker. She leaped to her feet and all but ran to the fireplace, grabbing a fistful of floo powder from her decorative pot and dashing it into the grate. 

Hermione appeared, dizzy and breathless, in the hearth of Shell Cottage. She took just a second to regain her balance before striding purposefully toward the kitchen, calling out for her friends. A small blonde child found her first, and Hermione found herself tangled up in a hug. 

She patted Victoire on the head a tad awkwardly and smiled down at the five-year-old. “Victoire! How are you, love? Is your father around?” 

Victoire nodded eagerly and looked over her shoulder. “Dad!” she shrieked. “Aunty Mione is here!”

Hermione cringed, both at the sudden yell and the nickname. She hid her grimace when Victoire looked back at her, beaming and looking more self satisfied than any little girl had a right to be. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Bill Weasley made an appearance. Hermione hadn’t seen him in quite a long time really — perhaps not since she and Ron had called it quits. She immediately felt guilty for ignoring her adoptive family so completely this last year or so. 

Bill looked just as handsome as he ever had. His auburn hair was still tied back in a ponytail and he wore his scars with the same confidence that some wore designer suits. His freckled face broke into a surprised smile when he saw Hermione. 

“Why if it isn’t Unspeakable Granger,” Bill said warmly. “What brings you by?”

Hermione shuffled awkwardly and looked down at her hands. “I’m so sorry I haven’t come for a visit before now, but I need your help.”

Bill nodded and put a comforting hand on her shoulder before turning to his daughter. “Why don’t you go find Mum? I’m sure she could use your help.” He watched as Victoire disappeared up the stairs and then smiled at Hermione. “Tea? I’ll brew and you talk.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” She followed him into the kitchen and sat at the small table, twisting her hands anxiously in front of her. “So I’m afraid I’m not here for social or even personal reasons,” she began. 

Bill looked at her sharply. “Unspeakable business?” At her nod, he let out a breath. “You’re trying to figure out this weather, right? What can I do?”

Hermione explained everything she had come up with so far — how she was sure it was a type of accidental magic and she was trying to track its origin, but she was having trouble due to the complexity of the signature. “I swear, Bill, I’ve never seen anything like this. I can’t seem to untangle it enough to get a read on it.”

“Interesting,” Bill murmured. “Show me what you have so far?”

Hermione nodded and stood up, drawing her wand. She cast a few spells into the air in front of them, and an intricate web of light appeared. She jabbed her wand into the tangle, and a few lines of lights separated from each other. She turned to look at Bill with frustration. “Every time I begin to unravel the magic another area just knots tighter together. It occurred to me that it was rather like wards set up to protect an object or location, and I thought who better to help than a curse breaker.”

Bill nodded and stepped closer to the mass of light in front of Hermione. He pulled his wand from his pocket and murmured a spell as he waved it back and forth in front of the magical webbing. Then he prodded at it, and the tangles seemed to fall and melt away into nothing. Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she watched Bill take apart the magic she had been struggling with for days in a matter of seconds. 

“How on earth did you manage that so quickly?” she whispered in amazement. “I’ve been fighting with the damn thing for days!”

Bill laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “That's why they pay me the big galleons.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but she couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. “Well, anyway, thank you! This saves me a load of grief!” She eyed the single glowing orb that had been hidden in the center of the web, watching it pulse with magic as if it was alive. She frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen a signature like this before. Though, it doesn’t matter as long as I can still track it.”

“It is strange,” Bill agreed speculatively. “Be careful, Hermione. Wherever it may bring you.” **  
**

***

Hermione stood in front of the huge wrought iron gates, gazing up at the manor that seemed to rise out of the fog ahead of her. The magical trace had brought her here, to one of the only places she had wished to never return. Yet she knew it wasn’t a mistake, and that whatever answers she sought were inside. For if there had been any doubt in her mind as to the quality of her tracking spell, the sight before her was enough to convince her she was in the right place. Fog roiled up from the ground in inexplicable clouds and lightning forked around the manor, framing it like something out of a ghastly horror movie. She gritted her teeth and lifted her chin, pushing open the gates with determination and striding up the path to the front doors. She rapped twice on the heavy wood with the serpent-shaped knocker and stood back, one hand clenched tightly on the handle of her wand where it was holstered. A weathered-looking house-elf answered the door, looking somehow nervous and defiant simultaneously. Hermione swallowed back her instant irritation that the Malfoys owned house-elves — because  _ of course, _ they did — and forced a smile at the poor creature. 

“Umm, hello. Is your master home?” she asked.

The elf nodded and ushered her inside. “And who should I say is calling, Miss?”

“Oh, erm, Hermione Granger, Unspeakable Granger actually,” Hermione stammered, instantly annoyed with herself for her nervousness. She could do this. Years had passed since the war, the woman who had caused her torment was long dead, and places would hold no sway over her. She just had to power through it like anything else. She repeated this mantra over and over in her head as she followed the elf through the long halls of the manor until they finally reached a sitting room. There was a large fireplace on the opposite wall from the entrance with two wingback chairs placed in front of it. Despite the fact that there was no fire in the grate someone was sitting in the chair. Hermione could see the platinum blond head peeking over the top of it. 

“Master Draco,” the house-elf said. “You have a visitor. An Unspeakable Granger is here to see you.”

There was a raspy laugh, and Hermione saw a hand lift and wave the elf away. “That will do, Moppy. Bring some tea, would you?” The elf nodded and scurried back out the door leaving Hermione to waver uncertainly in the entrance. 

“Well come on then, Unspeakable One,” Malfoy’s gruff drawl carried across the large room. “You must have really wanted to see me to come all the way out here.”

Hermione was instantly angry with herself for feeling even momentarily intimidated, and she moved forward quickly, letting her anger propel her until she was standing directly in front of his chair. It took nearly all of her willpower not to step back or make a sound of surprise when he looked up at her. Admittedly, she hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy in years, but she knew this was not the boy she remembered. Of course, he had grown — they had all grown now that they were no longer awkward teenagers — but it wasn’t that he had filled out or let his hair grow or anything that trivial. He looked… wild. Hermione couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. His eyes, which had always been grey, were so light now that it was shocking. She could barely distinguish between the whites of his eyes and his pupils. His hair, which had always been a pale blond, was nearly silver, falling around his shoulders like molten lead. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. A quick glance at the small table beside him sent a jolt of shock through her. Lying there was a copy of The Daily Prophet dated about two weeks prior and the article on the front page read in large bold font “Lucius Malfoy Dies in Azkaban”. Hermione had of course seen the paper when the headline was new but she hadn’t given it more than a passing acknowledgement and then let it fall away like water off a duck’s back. Now, however, a much more troubling thought was occurring to her. 

“Well, don’t just stare at me, Granger. Sit down.” Malfoy pointed to the chair opposite his own, a faint hint of a smirk gracing his lips but it looked strained even to her. 

Hermione sat without argument, even though part of her wanted to argue just for the sake of it. Instead, she reminded herself that she was here in an official capacity and needed to act the part. She pursed her lips, trying to decide on the best way to broach the topic. “Do you know why I’m here?” It wasn’t the best opening, but it would do.

Malfoy frowned at her. “Should I? I can assure you that I haven’t left the manor in weeks, so whatever it is that you think I’ve done… Well, I haven’t.”

“Have you not even glanced out a window in all that time?” Hermione asked him in disbelief. 

“I haven’t felt much like seeing the sun lately.” Malfoy said defensively.

Hermione snorted. She couldn’t help herself. “There’s no worry there, Malfoy.” She nodded her head toward one of the large windows where the drapes were tightly closed. “Go see for yourself.”

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but stood from his chair and moved toward the window. With a sweep of his hand, he drew back the velvet curtains and stared out into the blackness beyond. The sky lit up with an enormous bolt of lightning right before he dropped the curtain and turned to face her again. “I admit that I haven’t been paying much attention to the time of day, but it  _ is  _ morning, isn’t it?”

“It’s ten AM, but most importantly, Malfoy, it’s been dark for a forte night. There’s been no sun, only rain, snow, and other extreme weather but it never stops and the sun never comes out regardless of the time of day.” Hermione watched him carefully as she spoke, but his reaction seemed genuine. 

“That’s impossible,” Malfoy scoffed, taking his seat again. “There is no natural occurrence that would cause that, nor is there a weather spell that could do it.”

“Precisely,” Hermione said. Malfoy’s gaze snapped up to meet hers, and she was startled again by how strange his eyes were. She took a deep breath and began again. “There is no  _ spell _ that could cause this. Tell me, Malfoy, when was the last time you looked in the mirror?”

Malfoy tensed immediately, she could see it in the set of his shoulders. He glared at her again and folded his arms across his chest defensively. “Not that it’s any of your business but I haven’t exactly felt like looking at my own face lately.”

Hermione nodded brusquely and quickly conjured a hand mirror. She held it out to him. “Please,” she urged when he didn’t make a move to take it. “It’s important or I wouldn’t ask you.”

Malfoy scowled, but grabbed the mirror and held it up to his face. It was an odd thing, watching his reaction wash over him. It clearly took a moment before he registered what he was seeing and then once he did, disbelief, shock, and then horror raced over his features. He leaped to his feet, throwing the hand mirror to the ground where it shattered in front of the hearth. “What kind of sick joke are you trying to play, Granger?”

Hermione sat back in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know what your end game is, but if you think you can hand me a trick mirror and I’ll believe anything you tell me then you’ve got another thing coming!” Malfoy shouted, two red spots appearing on his cheeks in his anger.

Hermione stood as well, not wanting to let Malfoy continue to tower over her. “Look, Malfoy, I don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no joke — that was a regular mirror. If you don’t believe me go look in one of your own mirrors! There must be dozens of them in this monstrosity of a house.”

He glared at her for a long beat before turning and stomping out of the room. Hermione watched him go, but she didn’t make a move to follow him. Malfoy was clearly fighting his own demons right now and they weren’t friends, however she might feel sorry for him. She heard the sharp sound of shattering glass, and she jumped in surprise. She looked in the direction that Malfoy had gone, and though she saw no sign of him, the house-elf that had let her in came hurrying back into the room carrying a tea tray. Hermione tried to fix her own tea but the elf, Moppy, insisted on doing it and twitched nervously every time she made a move to do something herself. She eventually relented and let the elf serve her tea and a plate of biscuits before disappearing again. 

Hermione was beginning to wonder how long she should sit here waiting for Malfoy to return before she went looking for him. She was feeling rather silly sitting by herself in this empty room. For all she knew, Malfoy wasn’t planning on coming back and had just left her here. Well, she wasn’t going to let him make a fool of her. She had traced his magic all the way here, she could sure as hell find him now even if he chose to hide from her. Hermione stood, her indignation hastening her steps into the corridor where she nearly ran right into the man in question. 

Malfoy looked strained, but he still managed to sneer at her. “Leaving so soon?”

She scowled at him. “I was looking for you.”

He made a sweeping gesture at himself and strode past her into the room. Hermione rolled her eyes, but followed him back to the armchairs and once again sat primly in hers. She picked up her teacup and sipped from it as she waged an internal war over whether or not she should prod him or wait for him to speak. Malfoy, for his part, was glaring into the fireplace as if it had done something to personally offend him. Just when she didn’t think she’d be able to keep quiet any longer, he spoke. 

“What is it that you know, Granger?” Malfoy spoke so quietly that she nearly didn’t hear him above the ominous thunder rolling outside. When she didn’t answer right away, he continued. “You’re here for a reason, one that clearly involves me, and not only do you  _ not  _ seem surprised by my new freakish appearance, you almost act as if you expected it. So I repeat,  _ what is it that you know?” _

Hermione took a deep breath and put down her teacup. “I think  _ you _ are causing this weather, even if you aren’t aware of it.”

“What?!” Malfoy’s white eyes snapped up to meet her unwavering gaze. “Granger, I’ve never been particularly good at charms, and this sort of weather spell would be impossible for even a master to accomplish.”

Hermione shook her head. “I told you, this is no spell. It is more a type of accidental magic — the sort of accidental magic that can only be created by a very special kind of wizard.”

Malfoy frowned in confusion. “Are you saying you think I’m special?”

Hermione huffed in annoyance. “Tempestarii, Malfoy. Do you know what that is?”

“Weather Mages? Granger, there hasn’t been any proof of their existence since medieval times,” Malfoy said skeptically.

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She honestly hadn’t expected him to have any idea what she was talking about. “Err, well, it all depends on how you look at it, doesn’t it? If you asked a Muggle if wizards were real, they would laugh in your face, but you and I know that they are wrong. I know it’s far fetched, but it fits and if anything the details are making it more convincing, not less.”

“But how — why—” Malfoy sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his silver hair. “Aren’t I a bit old to be developing new magic?”

“Not necessarily. You could have had it buried all along, so while it seems like it appeared out of the blue, it’s probably been laying dormant all this time.” Hermione lifted her hand to place it comfortingly on his knee like she would have if she was talking to one of her friends, but she caught herself and dropped it again. While this was without a doubt the most civil conversation she had ever had with Malfoy, they were hardly friends and she didn’t dare touch him. 

Malfoy was silent for several minutes, and when he spoke it was clear that he had recovered from his earlier shock. “Listen, Granger, this is a really cute theory you have and while I’m sure all of your friends have been humoring this mad little hunt you’ve been on — You’re wrong. I’ve got nothing to do with any of this, and I think it’s time that you leave. Moppy!” He had spoken calmly, with the usual sneering undercurrent in his voice until he yelled the house-elf’s name at the end, causing Hermione to twitch in her chair. The elf appeared before she even had time to protest his dismissal of her and she was summarily hustled from the manor.

When she stepped back outside into the enveloping darkness, she was both surprised and resigned to note a new phenomena to add to her ever-growing list of weather abnormalities. It was raining, as it had been for weeks, but now as she watched the droplets under the light of her wand, she saw that it was a deep blood red staining her skin and soaking into her clothes. 

**  
  
**

**Draco**

His father had always told him that it wasn’t unbefitting of a Malfoy to show weakness in front of others. He would have said that was especially true when it was someone like Hermione Granger. Still, it was all he could do to tamp down on the fear and desperation warring inside of him long enough to get her out of his house. 

_ His father. _ His father who was dead. His father who would have treated him with contempt if he could have known how much his son had let himself fall to pieces. Draco felt like a lost little boy looking for a hand to cling to when there wasn’t a friendly face to be found. He swore under his breath and stood from his chair, retrieving the firewhiskey decanter so that he could add a splash to his tea. His hands shook as he poured, the crystal ringing against the porcelain cup. Draco replaced the stopper and put it down on the side table with an audible thud. It was just as well that his mother was gone — she would have thrown a fit over the way he was treating the china. She didn’t care now. She had left him, fled to the continent as soon as her house arrest was up — desperate to run from the legacy his father had left them to drown in. Draco’s own war crimes had been more extensive, and while he was treated leniently thanks to a testimony given by Saint Potter, he hadn’t been able to leave when his mother did. Even if he had, Draco wasn’t all that sure that he would have gone with her. There were too many things here that he didn’t want to part with, or perhaps he was just stubborn and didn’t want to run. Either way, he was here alone in this huge house that had been the setting for so much darkness during the war. Draco hadn’t dwelled on it too much, not until recently. Not until he received word from Azkaban that his father was dead. He had sunk so deeply into his own depression and been so bogged down with his own demons that he hadn’t noticed any of the outward changes in himself. While he had been aware of the tense knotted feeling inside himself, he had chalked it up to anxiety and had never thought it might have been much more literal than that — because apparently, it was a new magic awakening and running wild within him. It was hard to believe, even with the evidence staring him in the face. The irony wasn’t lost on him that the evidence in this situation actually  _ was  _ his face. Draco had been so convinced that Granger was trying to trick him when she handed him that mirror. It was certainly easier to believe than the truth, but when he looked in his bathroom mirror and saw those cloudy white eyes staring back at him, he stumbled hard. He touched his hair next, seeing how silvery-white it had become and he had wanted to scream. Draco barely managed to choke it back knowing that Granger was just down the hall, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from smashing that mirror. He had picked up the decorative soap dish on the counter and thrown it hard at the glass without giving it a second thought, so focused he was on dissolving the image in front of him. What a fruitless gesture that was. The broken shards picked up his reflection just as well. 

On a whim that Draco couldn’t quite explain he left the sitting room and strode down the corridor until he reached the conservatory. He hadn’t been in this room since his mother had left as it had always been her favorite, and it reminded him too much of her, but now he paid no mind to that. The torchlight in the sconces reflected off of the glass with how dark it was outside, still, Draco pushed open the french doors without hesitation and walked out into the courtyard beyond. It was raining heavily and he looked up to the black sky as several forks of lightning lit up the gardens, brief though it was. He closed his eyes against the droplets pelting down on him and tried to focus on the magic of it. Now that he was making the effort, he could feel  _ something _ there, but he wasn’t able to grasp ahold of it. Instead, it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, and he grew frustrated. 

After several more moments, Draco gave up and went back inside. His clothing was soaked through, and water was dripping from his hair. He trudged upstairs to change, but caught sight of himself in the hall mirror on his way and stopped short to stare in disbelief. His once white shirt was stained red as streams of what looked like blood ran down his face from his sodden hair. He looked like an axe murderer. Swearing, Draco nearly ran the rest of the way to his room, stripping his clothes off as he went. Once he was under the shower spray he watched the red water spin away down the drain until it finally ran clear, then he slumped against the tile wall and let out a shaky breath. This was a nightmare. He was living a fucking nightmare. He remembered Granger’s earnest face as she had explained her theory to him, though it quickly hardened with outrage once he demanded that she leave his home. And for what? He was in over his head, and he had no idea what to do. 

The rest of that day was wasted. Draco spent over an hour slumped on the floor of his shower before he was able to muster the energy to get up and dry off. After that, he had consumed far more whiskey than was advisable so early in the day — or at all really — and he had passed out fully clothed on top of his duvet. The following day was also a loss, mostly because he found himself nursing a terrible hangover. Draco whittled away the hours laying in bed with his head under the blankets. He fell in and out of sleep, though it was always restless, and even then he couldn’t muffle the sound of the thunder, or the wind raging outside no matter how hard he pressed his pillow over his ears. Every time he heard the wind shake the window panes he felt as though he could feel an answering rattle in his chest. He didn’t want to feel it. It was unsettling, as though his body was full of bees buzzing angrily at being trapped inside a cage made of flesh. Draco groaned and pressed a palm against his sternum, praying for silence — from the storm, from the world, from his mind. Finally, when he could take it no longer, he stumbled out of bed, the blankets trailing behind him as he moved to his dresser and rifled through the top drawer. He swallowed down the vial of dreamless sleep he found and crawled back into bed, burrowing as far underneath the pillows as he could manage. 

When Draco awoke again, regaining full consciousness was like trying to wade through syrup. He extricated himself from the tangle of blankets and pillows he was cocooned in and squinted toward the windows. That was completely unhelpful in determining what time it was since there was still no sunlight. He fumbled for his wand, finally grasping hold of the handle sticking out from underneath one of his pillows. He cast a Tempus and groaned irritably. It was early, not quite seven-thirty in the morning, but he had already wasted enough time lately and so dragged himself out of bed.

“Moppy!” Draco shouted as he moved about the room gathering his clothing. 

The elf appeared with a crack holding a steaming mug of coffee out to him. She then frowned and pointed a knobby finger at him. “You should be eating something too, Master Draco. Moppy will fix breakfast while you is getting ready.” 

She disappeared again before he had the chance to protest, though his stomach growled loudly, and he decided that perhaps she was right. Not even a Malfoy could exist solely on caffeine and alcohol.

Several hours later, Draco was striding through Diagon Alley, the hood pulled up on his cloak to hide his face and hair the best he could. Because of the weather, he didn’t even garner a second glance for walking around in such a way in the middle of the summer. The other witches and wizards bustling by him were similarly garbed in an attempt to shield themselves from the storm. He kept his head down anyway, though not to keep the rain off of his face, but because he didn’t know how he would explain his new features if he bumped into anyone he knew. Draco turned the corner into Knockturn Alley, narrowly avoiding a large puddle. The cobblestone here was not nearly as well kept as on the main streets and so there were many more puddles to navigate around as he made his way to the bookshop he was seeking. He ducked inside the shabby little store with a broken sign that read  _ Bilgewater Books  _ dangling just above the entrance. There was a clerk behind the counter with his own book in hand and he didn’t bother to look up when the door opened. Of course, the type of customer service where the clerk didn’t get into your business or pay you any mind was exactly what Draco was looking for at this moment. He strode through the narrow aisles until he found what he thought would be the right section. Draco thumbed through a few different books and believed he had found something useful when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He spun around, automatically hiding the books he was holding behind his back. Hermione Granger was standing there with her arms crossed over her chest looking supremely smug. 

“Finally decided to leave your house, I see,” Granger said with maddening superiority.

Draco scowled at her. “What of it?”

“Oh nothing,” Granger said with a sharp smile. “I’m just curious as to what made you decide to come here in this horrid weather, looking for books after — what did you say it was? Over two weeks without leaving the manor?”

She didn’t flinch under his glare, much to his dismay. “What? I can’t decide I’m sick of being cooped up and come out for some new reading material?” As he spoke, he pushed the books he had in his hands back onto the stacks behind him. “As flattered as I am that you’re showing so much interest in me now, Granger, I can assure you that I’m here for completely mundane reasons.” Granger narrowed her eyes at him and stepped closer, into his personal space. Her finger stopped just short of jabbing him in the chest and he looked down at the offending digit before meeting her gaze with a hard stare. 

“Listen, Malfoy. You might be refusing to admit the truth but I  _ know _ that I’m right about you. There is nothing you can say to persuade me otherwise,” she said with steel in her voice. 

“Fascinating,” Draco drawled, feigning disinterest with practiced expertise. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better things to do.” He stepped around her and moved toward the exit with as casual a pace as he could manage.

“Malfoy.”

Draco paused in his strides when she called his name but he didn’t turn around. 

“I’m trying to help you.” It was spoken quietly, almost as if she didn’t want to say it, but he still heard her.

He looked over his shoulder then, meeting her earnest brown eyes for the briefest of seconds. “That was your first mistake, Granger. I don’t want your help.” 

**  
  
**

**Hermione**

Malfoy stalked through the small shop and out the front entrance with a rigid set to his shoulders. Hermione waited until she was sure he had left and then she turned her attention to the stacks where he had been standing. She tilted her head to the side consideringly, inspecting the books and her gaze fell on two that were not only upside down but on the wrong shelf. With a quiet noise of triumph, Hermione snatched them up and scanned the backs. So Malfoy had been here looking for information on Tempestarii. She suspected it when the tracking spell she had placed on him had gone off alerting her to his location, but now she knew it for sure. He could deny it all he liked, but it didn’t change the fact that she knew the truth behind what was going on here, and it was her job to fix it. She paid for the books and left the shop, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her mass of hair. A quick glance at her tracking charm showed her that Malfoy had retreated to the manor and so with a grim smile, she disapparated from Knockturn Alley and reappeared in front of the iron gates of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione wasted no time in striding up to the massive front doors and banging loudly with the serpent knocker. The door was flung open a moment later by Moppy, who looked at her sternly and ushered her inside. She followed the elf who led her through the extensive halls of the manor, but they didn’t go into the sitting room this time. Instead, they continued past it until they reached the end of the corridor which then opened into a vast space. Hermione couldn’t help the surprised gasp that escaped her at the sight. She was standing in a large conservatory with a high domed ceiling and walls made entirely of glass. There were many tropical plants in decorative pots and a koi pond with a trickling waterfall spilling into it. Malfoy was standing in front of the french doors that appeared to lead into a courtyard though it was difficult to tell with the darkness outside. He turned at the sound of her gasp, but his expression didn’t betray his thoughts. His foggy eyes shifted to Moppy and he waved a hand in dismissal. The elf bowed low and vanished from the room, leaving Hermione alone with him. 

Malfoy’s gaze shifted back to hers, and the faint tightening of his mouth was the only outward sign that he was annoyed. He sighed and moved to a comfortable looking wicker loveseat set near the pond. “What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?”

“Well, a good start would be to just admit that I’m right and let me help you. The sooner you get this under control, the sooner I can leave, and we can go back to ignoring each other in peace.” Hermione strode forward and dropped the books from the shop on the coffee table in front of him. 

Malfoy looked down at them and groaned. “Fuck, Granger. You are the most frustrating person I have ever had the misfortune of dealing with.”

“You aren’t exactly a bundle of joy either, you know,” Hermione huffed indignantly. 

He snorted and reached for one of the books she had dropped. He flipped through the pages casually before looking up at her. “What if I was just interested in learning more about the Tempestarii after you mentioned them to me?”

She rolled her eyes at him and scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. There might be some people out there gullible enough to buy that, but I’m not one of them.”

“Damn it, Granger, just leave me aone! I don’t want your help!” Malfoy shouted, standing from his seat. His cool facade had finally cracked and he looked angry.

“It doesn’t matter if you  _ want  _ my help! You  _ need  _ my help! And more importantly, I don’t want to keep putting up with this nightmare weather while you try and fail to figure out how to deal with it!” She had stepped closer to him with every word until she poked him in the chest with her finger. Malfoy looked down at her finger in disbelief and then grabbed her hand, yanking it from his body. Her other hand flew up — to slap him or push at him, she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter anyway. He caught that hand too, holding a wrist tightly in each of his hands. She glared up at him angrily. “Let go of me!”

“Don’t touch me,” Malfoy practically growled. His eyes looked completely clouded over now and his hair lifted off of his shoulders as if pushed by a nonexistent breeze. There was a tremendous crack of thunder that vibrated the ground they stood on immediately followed by the largest bolt of lightning Hermione had ever seen crashing down right outside the glass walls. Seconds later, another one followed and flames sprang up in the shrubs despite the light rain. 

Hermione let out a yelp of fear and tried to tug her arms out of his grasp. “Malfoy!” He didn’t seem to be registering anything right now — vacant eyes were staring back at her. She finally managed to pull her hands free and slapped him hard across the face. He blinked, and his eyes focused on her. She took a small step back, but he didn’t retaliate against her assault. “Malfoy!” she shouted again. He continued to look at her in confusion, so she grabbed him by the shoulders and physically turned him toward the glass windows. “You have to put out the fire.”

“Shit!” Malfoy yelled as he finally saw the flames and completely snapped back to reality. “Where’s my wand?” he muttered to himself patting his pockets. 

“You don’t need your wand! Make it rain harder!” Hermione exclaimed.

He gaped at her. “I — I don’t know how.” 

She groaned. “Malfoy, I know you’re well versed in Occlumency. You have nothing but practice controlling your thoughts and emotions, so this really shouldn’t be all that difficult for you. Focus! Picture what you want to happen.”

Malfoy frowned at the fire burning beyond their glass walls. After a moment, he let out a frustrated breath. “Nothing is happening.”

“Oh honestly, Malfoy!” Hermione, who was still standing behind him, put her hands on his biceps and shook him a little. “Close your eyes. Focus on the rain. You can hear the raindrops falling on the leaves, and the smell of fresh dirt and grass is coming up from the ground. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and lightning flashes.” She felt him shudder under her hands, and she leaned forward, speaking more softly. “Think about what it smells like, what it feels like on your skin.” She thought the rain might be starting to come down heavier, but it still wasn’t enough. “Remember how it makes your hair cling to your neck, and the droplets get caught in your eyelashes. Think about the way the rain tastes on your lips, and how it makes your clothes stick to your body.” 

Suddenly, it was as if the sky opened up — the rain started coming down so hard that the fire was extinguished almost instantly. Hermione marveled at it momentarily before turning her attention back to Malfoy. She let go of his arms and walked around in front of him so she could see his face. His eyes were still closed, and his chin was tilted up as if accepting the rain. She touched his forearm gently, needing to get his attention but not wanting to startle him. His breathing was shallow, and he didn’t seem to register her presence. Hermione considered him for a beat, watching his pale eyelashes flutter against his cheeks before she reached a tentative hand toward his face. She had just traced the tips of her fingers on the edge of his jaw when his eyes flew open. 

Hermione gave him a weak smile, dropping her hand and stepping away from him. “You did it, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s eyes darted toward the glass walls behind her, then back to her face, and he nodded slowly. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “That’s… good,” he agreed, his voice a soft rasp. 

“Now, you need to stop the rain before you flood everything again,” Hermione pointed out patiently. 

“Right,” Malfoy agreed, but he didn’t look away from her. In fact, he appeared to be looking at her as if he’d never seen her before.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Malfoy shook his head as if to clear it and looked back outside. He furrowed his brow with concentration, and the rain began to slow. After a minute, he glanced back at her, and she could see that some of the clouds had cleared from his eyes, though they were still more white than grey. “That’s good,” she murmured. He was still staring at her, and it was getting unnerving. “Right, well, I think that’s a good start. Why don’t you read those books you found and I’ll come back tomorrow. Maybe we can get the daylight back?” She was backing away from him as she spoke, and when she reached the doorway, she turned and all but fled out into the corridor and through the front door. 

It took nearly no time at all for Hermione to get back inside the comfort of her flat, though the familiar space was not helping to calm her at all. Instead, she found herself pacing the small sitting room, and feeling like an anxious mess. She couldn’t quite say why that was. By all rights, she should be pleased. She had finally made some headway with the storms and was that much closer to being able to tell her superiors and the rest of the wizarding world that she had solved their problem. Yet, there had been something odd that had passed between her and Malfoy in that conservatory. Hermione couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly, but she had felt it nonetheless. She was tired, she told herself. She had been working nonstop on this puzzle for the last ten days and had simply exhausted herself. Perhaps it was just that she and Malfoy were over the fighting — that had been so long ago, after all — and it was a strange thing being civil with Malfoy. That must be it, she decided, for if this interaction had happened between her and Harry, or Ron, or Neville, or  _ anyone _ , she wouldn’t have felt so bizarre about it. Hermione stopped pacing and headed into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She could do this. She just needed a plan, and now that Malfoy wasn’t fighting her every step of the way it should be easy enough to follow through. She always felt better when she was organized and had a plan, which was why she had lived by her timetables and schedules when she was at school. The part that always tripped her up was the people involved. No matter how she tried, there was no planning for how other people would behave, and they rarely followed her organized plans much to her frustration. 

Take Ron for example. Hogwarts' age Hermione had been sure that they would end up together and live happily ever after, and she had plotted the whole scenario out in her mind. Unfortunately, she failed to take into account not only how Ron might feel, but also how  _ she _ might feel as they both got older. They had never been very compatible, but it was easy to be blind to such things when one was caught up in the idea of romance. Even now, she cared deeply for Ron, but she could see that they worked much better as friends than lovers. They had little in common and seemed to spend more time making each other miserable than anything else. Unbelievably, it had been Ron who realized this first — who had sat her down to talk about it. She was just so stubborn — she knew that — and she found failure unacceptable which meant it took her much longer than it should have to recognize the fact that she couldn’t treat every aspect of her life as she would her studies. Hermione couldn’t treat a relationship the same way she would an exam, and honestly, once she had realized that and let go of her childish plans, she had felt free. Free to choose a different path, or make mistakes along the way, or really anything at all. It created great upheaval in her life, but she was the first to admit nothing but good had come from it. 

People had expected her to join the Aurors with Harry and Ron, and she had expected herself to go into politics or perhaps creature rights, but she had surprised everyone when she decided she wanted to work in the department of mysteries instead. Ron had thought she was mad after the experience they all had there during fifth year, but in her mind, the very name of the department explained her interest in it. She loved solving puzzles and working out problems, and this seemed like the perfect place to put those skills to use. Hermione has put all of her time and energy into her work after that. It was a perfect way to distract herself from other areas of her life that weren’t going to plan. She had no love life to speak of and barely any social life either. Especially if you didn’t count Harry and Ginny trying to drag her out of her flat from time to time. 

Which, of course, is how she ended up working on this storm phenomena they had been dealing with now. She had made a name for herself solving the hard cases and so she was a natural choice. Hermione wondered now if it was worth the trouble, not that she would ever dream of giving up or telling her superiors that she couldn’t complete the task. And honestly, she had made a significant advancement today with getting Malfoy to admit to the truth. She was unnerved by her own response to him, that was all. She dreaded the very idea of having to spend one on one time with him now, also knowing that there was no other way. 

No, that was quite enough of that nonsense. Right now she was going to go indulge in a hot bath and refused to let herself dwell on Malfoy for a moment longer. Hermione poured herself a glass of wine and shuffled toward the bathroom, humming softly. As she waited for the bath to fill, she shed her clothes and sipped her wine, tipping a generous amount of her favorite bubble bath into the steaming water. She sank into the tub, sighing softly as her muscles relaxed on contact with the heat. Hermione tipped her head back to rest against the edge of the tub and closed her eyes to block out the harsh light of her bathroom. She cracked an eye open again. She neglected to turn on some music, and it was so quiet. The sound of her breathing and the occasional drip of water from the faucet seemed magnified. She wiped a damp strand of hair out of her face with a soapy hand and eyed her wand, still laying next to the sink where she had left it. She didn’t want to get up now, even if the music did help to drown out the thoughts that always seemed to be crowding her mind. Hermione huffed in annoyance and closed her eyes again. A loud crack of thunder reverberated through the small space and goosebumps immediately sprung up on her flesh. She sucked in a startled breath at the excited twinge that went through her and brushed her fingertips tentatively over her breasts. Well, there was a first time for everything, Hermione acknowledged as her nipples hardened in response. She refused to analyze why the sound of thunder rattling her windows was making her wet but allowed her hand to travel deeper into the water. She moaned softly and it echoed in the stillness of her bathroom. It wasn’t long before the small room was filled with the sounds of water lapping against the sides of the tub and her soft cries as she pushed herself over an edge she had been teetering on for most of the day. 

****  
  


**Draco**

Draco awoke with a startling abruptness that had him bolting upright in bed, the blankets pooling around him like inky water in the darkness. His heart was pounding and he clenched his fists as he fought to regain control of himself. The dream was already slipping from his memory, but a few images of Granger screaming as tears spilled down her cheeks, accompanied by a host of memories of his father, some ugly and some not, still had him feeling as tense as an overwound piano string. Draco struggled to breathe through his nose, fingers flexing in the sheets as he tried to stuff his emotions back underneath the layers of his Occlumency shields. A crack of thunder so loud it made his ears ring caused him to flinch as an alarming roaring sound rattled through the walls of the manor. Draco stumbled out of bed, disentangled himself from the duvet as quickly as he could and reached for the closest window then threw open the curtains. Of course, it was still dark as hell outside and he swore under his breath as he nearly pressed his nose to the glass in an attempt to see what was going on out there. He could hear wood splintering and stone cracking when a streak of lightning lit up the sky. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough to determine that something the size of bludgers appeared to be falling to the earth. 

“Master Draco!” a frightened squeak came from Moppy, who was cowering in the doorway tugging on her ears in distress. “Master Draco, the conservatory! Moppy doesn’t know how to help!” 

Draco flew past the elf, grabbing the banister with one hand and using his momentum to fling himself around the corner and down the flight of stairs. His bare feet slapped on the wood as he ran and he dimly registered Moppy following behind him as he went. He had an odd panicky feeling welling up in his chest and though he wasn’t sure what he was about to find, he knew it wouldn’t be anything good. As he approached the conservatory, he saw what had caused the elf’s alarm. There was broken glass littering the floor and more rained down through the iron frames of the room as the largest balls of hail Draco had ever seen continued to pummel down. He didn’t know how to stop it, though he vaguely realized that rushing forward into the demolished space wasn’t the right way to go about it. Still, he seemed to have little control over anything that happened anymore — life was no longer something he participated in but rather something that happened  _ to _ him whether he liked it or not. 

Draco raced into his mother’s precious conservatory, desperate to stop the damage. He felt the glass slice into his feet and the bludger sized pieces of hail slammed into him violently. He slipped in a pool of melting ice and his own blood and fell down hard. He had a brief moment to ponder the fact that it had been an awfully long time since he had played a game of quidditch before he was hit hard in the head and blackness engulfed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

**Draco**

When Draco came to, it was with a large pair of deep brown eyes staring down at him through a curtain of dark curls. He blinked, confused, and his first thought was that he was still dreaming. His entire body ached something awful and he had never felt physical pain quite so strongly in any dream before. Still, between Moppy’s anguished wails and the constant thundering of drums echoing around him, nothing quite seemed real. He struggled to sit up and Granger put her hands on his shoulders, holding him down. 

“Don’t move, Malfoy,” she said sternly. “You took quite a beating, and I’m not sure how hurt you are yet.”

Draco squinted at her. “Granger, has anyone ever told you that you’ve got no right to look so damn beautiful all the time?” 

Granger’s cheeks turned an endearing pink and her eyes skittered away from his. “Erm, listen Malfoy, we’ve got more important things to focus on.”

He scoffed. “I’m having quite enough trouble focusing on you right now. My head is fucking killing me.” Draco scowled and tried to look past all her damn hair. “And what is that racket? Who’s drumming in my house?” He again tried to push himself into a sitting position and this time succeeded in her distraction. 

“No one is drumming, Malfoy. Merlin, but you must have a concussion,” she seemed to mutter this last part more to herself than to him. Granger locked eyes with him again, a serious expression on her face though her cheeks were still quite pink. “Look, that racket, as you say, is the giant hail that you’ve created. You’ve got to stop it before it pummels everything to bits. I’m just hoping that you’re the only one that’s gotten injured.” Draco frowned at her. This dream didn’t make any sense, and it was quite unlike the ones he normally had. Granger huffed in annoyance and looked toward his elf. “Moppy, can you please bring us some Pepper Up Potion?”

The little elf nodded and disappeared with a snap, appearing again a minute later with a small vial in her hand. She passed it to him with a wobbly smile and Draco took it grudgingly, thinking that it might at least help to clear some of the fog from his head, downing it one gulp. The hazy feeling he had woken up with vanished immediately as did some of his headache.  _ Well, shit.  _ He wasn’t dreaming and he had definitely said something inappropriate to Granger. He felt his own cheeks grow hot, and he opened his mouth to make up some sort of excuse or defense, but Granger cut him off.

“Better, Malfoy? Good, now you need to focus on stopping the hail before it kills someone.” Granger was all business, as always, but right now he was glad for that.

“I don’t know how —” he began, but she interrupted him again.

“Let’s try what we did last night, okay? Turn it to rain.” Granger scooted closer to him on her knees and put her hands on the sides of his face. “Close your eyes, and think of everything you like about the rain. The sound, the scent, the feel of it, anything that stands out to you.”

Draco wanted to object to her closeness, to the too-familiar way she was touching him, but he found that he couldn’t. He tried his best to focus on the rain, and his mind immediately went to last night — how her closeness and description of the rain had thrilled him, and how he had fallen asleep thinking about it. He wondered what she would look like drenched in the summer rain, gemlike drops of water sparkling in her hair and glistening on her skin as she turned her face up to him. He took a deep breath in and smelled the same honeysuckle scent on her that he had last night when she had been close enough to kiss. Draco needed that rain, he needed to believe that he had control of  _ something _ in his life now. The pounding sound of great chunks of ice pummeling his home stopped, replaced by the patter of raindrops against the conservatory tile floors. Draco opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. Granger was kneeling so close to him that he could feel her breath on his face. She dropped her hands and his gaze flicked behind her, to the ruined remains of what had once been his mother’s favorite space. There were large chunks of ice melting on the tile, as rain poured down through the iron framework that was the only remaining part of the roof. The water was mixing with his blood on the floor and diluting it to a pale pink color that still stained the marble. It finally occurred to him that Granger must have dragged him from the exposed room and the falling debris because he was sitting on the floor in the corridor outside the wide archway that led into the normally peaceful room. He looked back at Granger’s pale face. She looked simultaneously tense and relieved, her eyes wide as she watched him.

He cleared his throat. “Now what? I’ve got quite the mess to clean up over there,” he said gesturing to the room before them.

“You’re in no condition to do anything of the sort just yet, Malfoy. The Pepper Up might have helped your concussion but you’ve got rather a lot of welts coming up on your skin, not to mention a disturbing amount of glass embedded in your feet,” Granger said sternly. 

Now that she mentioned it, his feet  _ were  _ in absolute agony. He grimaced as she picked up her wand from where she had discarded it in her earlier haste to get his focus. “I, uh, don’t suppose you know how to heal them?” Draco asked uncertainly. He really did not fancy a trip to St. Mungo’s. 

Granger looked affronted by the question. “You don’t honestly think I spent all that time running around with Harry and Ron without learning some basic healing spells? Now, sit still and let me work.” She pointed her wand at him and Draco braced himself for the pain that was likely to come as the glass was pulled from his flesh. Instead of more pain, he felt an immediate dulling of the fiery burn that was currently afflicting him and he looked up in surprise. Granger smirked at him. “Numbing spell,” she said simply.

She was sitting in front of him with her legs crossed, and his foot propped up on her knee as she worked. For a while, they sat in silence as she used her wand to pull the shards of glass from his feet. Draco found himself watching her as she focused on her task, purely out of boredom, he assured himself. Back when they were in school he had noticed that Granger had the habit of biting her lip when she was concentrating on something and it seemed that hadn’t changed in the years since. Her upper teeth were sunk into her plump bottom lip as she worked, piling the discarded pieces of glass to the side of where they were sitting. Her nose wrinkled slightly as he watched and he was appalled to realize how cute she looked like that. Draco shifted, uncomfortable with this new line of thinking, and cast around for something to say — anything that would distract his brain from those sort of traitorous thoughts.

“How did you know to come this morning?” he asked quietly.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you kidding? That hail this morning caused enough chaos to wake the dead. It was certainly coming from you, and I knew it had to stop before some poor soul out for an early morning walk got stoned to death.” She looked back down at the growing pile of bloody glass by her side. “It wasn’t hard to find you once I flooed over. Moppy was screaming her head off, and I just followed her voice. Poor thing was terrified that you’d managed to kill yourself.”

“Er… right,” Draco said awkwardly, feeling embarrassed over the entire events of the morning.

Granger slanted her eyes up at him again. “The real question is what happened to you? Why on earth would you go running into a room that was clearly hazardous?”

Draco grimaced, his embarrassment growing. “I… wasn’t thinking,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a practiced manner that looked more casual than he felt. 

“I don’t believe that,” Granger said, shaking her head. “You’re not the type to act without thinking.”

“It all happened rather fast, Granger. I didn’t exactly have time to map out a whole plan first.” He really didn’t want to get into the real reasons for his actions. He felt supremely stupid for all of his emotions today. 

Granger hummed noncommittally and kept her gaze focused on her task. She tapped his foot with an index finger. “I’m all done with this one.” Draco removed the appendage in question from her leg and replaced it with the other one. She nodded approvingly and set to work removing the glass again. They sat in silence for a few minutes before she spoke. “You know, when I lost my parents, I found that the silliest things became awfully important to me. I couldn’t bear to part with my mother’s favorite mug because it reminded me so much of her. It was tea-stained and had the words  _ ‘Be nice to your dentist, they have fillings too _ ’ on it. I still have it in my cupboard even though I don’t ever intend to use it.”

Draco has no idea what a dentist was, but he was too surprised that she was telling him about her personal life to question it. He really wasn’t sure how to respond to any of that. “I didn’t realize that you had lost your parents,” he settled on saying woodenly. 

Granger nodded. “I lost them during the war.”

She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t dare ask such a personal question. “I’m sorry,” he offered instead. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry that you’ve lost your parents too.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “My mother isn’t dead. She’s on the continent.”

She smiled sadly. “My parents aren’t dead either, Malfoy, but they are lost to me all the same.”

Draco thought about this for a moment. “The conservatory was always my mother’s favorite place,” he admitted finally. “I suppose I didn’t want to see it destroyed.”

Granger nodded again and Draco got the distinct impression that he hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know. “What triggered the hail then?” she asked. 

“Oh, er…” Draco stumbled over his response. He  _ really _ didn’t want to tell her about the dream. 

“What were you  _ feeling _ ? You don’t have to go into details if you don’t want to, but it will help me to figure out the best way for you to control this if we know what the triggers are,” Granger said.

“I was… upset,” Draco mumbled. “I had just woken up from a… less than pleasant dream.”

Granger glanced up at him. “Okay, I’m done.”

Draco tentatively put his feet on the floor and moved to stand up. No pain, not even a whisper of anything. Granger knew her healing, that was for sure. His eyes trailed to the bloody pile of glass on the floor and he wrinkled his nose. He really had acted like a fool barging into that room barefoot when there was clearly glass all over. He rolled his shoulders and winced. Granger was in front of him immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern. 

Draco shook his head. “Nothing, I'm fine. Just found a few more bruises,” he said, gesturing at his pajama top.  _ His pajama top.  _ Dear Merlin, he was still in his pajamas. 

“Oh! I can heal those for you too if you’d like,” Granger offered, stepping closer into his space and reaching out to him.

“No!” Draco yelped. Granger raised her eyebrows at him. “No, that’s ok. I’m just going to get changed, and I can put some salve on,” he tried again in a calmer tone. 

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Draco moved around her and walked calmly down the corridor until he turned the corner. Then he ran for his bedroom.

**  
  
  
**

**Hermione**

It was a strange thing to see Draco Malfoy vulnerable. He usually hid so well behind his mask of arrogance and superiority that it was easy to forget that he was also a real person with real feelings. The encounter with the hail had certainly hammered that home for her. She had never seen him look more open than when he was sitting on the floor in his pajamas with his feet in her lap. It had, she thought, been an important moment in their progress simply because it seemed to create peace and understanding between them. Hermione also kept thinking about the comment he had made to her while concussed. Malfoy said she was beautiful. She kept telling herself that it didn’t mean anything, he didn’t know what he was saying, but it kept creeping back into her traitorous mind. She had certainly given up trying to convince herself that she didn’t find him attractive. She did, and it was becoming more and more obvious the more time they spent together. Which… was a lot. She was there every day working with him now, trying to help him control his powers. They were making strides, but it always seemed to be one step forward and two steps back. With her help, he would manage to stop the rain and the thunder and lightning but then she would leave for the day and everything would come back with a vengeance while she was gone. Hermione had suspicions about that as well, though she wasn’t sure how to voice them without offending him. 

Today was a perfect example of this. When she had left Malfoy last night, the storm had stopped completely. The sky was still dark but it was big progress and she hoped that they could get the sunlight back soon. Still, when she awoke this morning, the rain was again pouring down, and lightning was lighting up the sky. She sighed and rolled out of bed, ready to head back over to that blasted manor and try to figure out what she was missing. Temporary fixes weren’t going to be enough in this case. Hermione flooed over to the manor around half noon, having taken her time getting ready and lingering over her tea while she read as she didn’t want to disturb Malfoy too early in the morning. Even so, she didn’t want to delay the day too long because she had plans with Harry and Ginny tonight, and she had already canceled on them too many times in a row. She found Malfoy in the conservatory, as she had every day this past week. He or Moppy, she wasn’t quite sure which, had replaced the glass roof and walls and swept away all of the detritus. If she hadn’t seen the damage herself, she would never have guessed it had been in ruins a mere week ago. 

Malfoy was standing in front of the french doors that looked out into the courtyard as he often did, and he turned to face her when she entered the room. His silvery hair was pulled back away from his face, which had the effect of making his cheekbones look that much sharper. His white eyes met hers, and he nodded in greeting. 

“Again, Malfoy?” Hermione asked as she crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Did you have another dream?”

Malfoy shook his head. “None that I remember.”

“Then what?” she pushed, her frustration seeping out in her tone despite her efforts. “Every evening when I leave, we seem to be doing well. I don’t understand what happens after that.”

Malfoy shrugged, and his eyes skittered away from hers. “I don’t know, Granger. I’m not doing it on purpose.”

She did believe that it wasn’t intentional on his part, but she was also quite sure that there was something more he wasn’t telling her. Hermione sighed and gestured to the chairs they had been using for their ‘sessions’. Malfoy moved slowly to his seat, and she could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders that something was bothering him. She marveled briefly over the fact that somewhere along the way she had actually gotten to know him well enough to notice that. They sat opposite each other, and she studied him for a moment. “I’m starting to think that maybe I shouldn’t be leaving at night,” Hermione said finally.

Malfoy looked up at her sharply. “Why do you say that?”

She let out a little huff of frustration. “Because, every day we work on your control, and every night it’s like a flip is switched and everything reverses again. I can only do so much, Malfoy! I can’t fix what I don’t see, and I can’t understand what you won’t tell me,” Hermione said, waving her hands in emphasis. She tucked a curl behind her ear and continued in a calmer tone. “I’m missing something. I have to be. You’re very proficient at Occlumency, yet this magic seems to be slipping through your fingers anyway. There has to be another trigger — something that goes beyond the Occlumency shields, and the sooner we figure out what it is, the sooner this will be settled.”

Malfoy didn’t speak for a long moment, and she expected him to push her away or resist in some fashion. “There are lots of empty bedrooms here. You could stay — if you wanted — if you think that would be helpful.” 

Hermione stared at him in shock, watching his eyes for any indication of what he was thinking, and she once again found herself cursing the cloudiness of his eyes. It was so difficult to read him. She nodded slowly. “Okay. I suppose it would simplify things anyway.” She cleared her throat and glanced past him, to look into the darkness outside. “Do you think you can stop the rain now?”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “I think so. It, uh… it helps when you’re here.” He closed his eyes in the next moment so he thankfully missed the flush that spread over her cheeks at his comment. Malfoy’s brow furrowed as she watched him, and he seemed to be struggling with his control. 

Hermione put a tentative hand on top of his and spoke softly. “You can do this, Malfoy. You’ve managed to control it every day this week. You are stronger than this power.” She felt his fingers curl around hers, and an odd thrill shot through her. Hermione squeezed his hand and felt him squeeze back. She smiled to herself, even as she felt her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest.

Malfoy’s eyes flew open just as the rain stopped with an abruptness that was, of course, unnatural. She once again found herself startled by his white eyes though they looked a bit less cloudy than they had when she arrived. Malfoy didn’t speak, he just stared at her with an intensity that made her want to shift in her seat. They were still holding hands, though she found herself loath to draw attention to it. Malfoy seemed to notice so after she did, however, and he pulled his hand away with a faint pink blush on his pale cheeks. It was… surprisingly endearing. 

“Okay, so it does seem to help when you have someone to give you reassurance,” Hermione stated in a voice that wavered just a bit. “So, it’s settled. I will stay here until you’ve mastered your control.” She glanced at her watch and looked back up at Malfoy. “So I’ve got plans to meet some friends for dinner, and of course, I’ll need to stop by my place to pick up some things, but then I’ll come back.” As soon as she finished speaking, a loud crack of thunder echoed around them. Malfoy’s expression was tense, though he nodded in response. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve already canceled on them too many times, Malfoy.” 

“Of course you should go,” Malfoy said stiffly. “I’m not stopping you.” Another rumble of thunder shook the glass walls surrounding them and he frowned.

Hermione watched him speculatively. “Did you… did you want to come? I’m sure they won’t mind.” 

Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms, looking away into the blackness outside. “Like any of your friends want to hang out with a former Death Eater.”

“My friends are good people and will happily make any accommodations I ask them to,” Hermione insisted. “Besides, they know better than to cross me,” she added with a small smile.

Malfoy looked back at her, clearly skeptical. “I suppose I  _ could _ come,” he said in what was clearly meant to be a haughty tone, but Hermione wasn’t buying it. 

She had gotten to know him too well over recent days and when his tell was as obvious as thunder and lightning, there wasn’t much he could properly hide. Now that she thought about it, the first day she had come here, he had told her that he hadn’t left his house in weeks. She wondered why that was and how long it had really been, but she knew better than to pry. Malfoy didn’t share much willingly, and she was afraid he would close himself off even more if she pushed him. 

“Alright then, it’s settled. Let me just shoot them a message so they know we need an extra chair.” Hermione pulled a cell phone from her purse and sent a text to Harry warning him that she would be bringing Malfoy with her to dinner and that he and Ginny needed to be on their best behavior. They knew that she was working with him as part of her assignment from the Department of Mysteries, and they also knew that she was spending most of her time with him. Harry was a bit bemused by the whole thing and Ginny was shrewdly curious, though Hermione had managed to deflect most of her questions so far. She knew that there would be no doing so after tonight, but that would have to be a problem for another day. She tucked her phone back into her bag without waiting for a response and looked up to meet Malfoy’s confused face. 

“What was that?”

“It’s called a cell phone. Muggles use them for communication. It’s much faster than waiting for owls.” Hermione waited for him to make a derisive comment about Muggles but it never came. 

He just shrugged. “What would you like to work on now?”

**  
  
  
**

**Draco**

**  
  
**

Draco wasn’t really sure what had gotten into him. Not only had he invited Granger to stay at his house but now he was going to dinner with her friends. He didn’t even know which friends she was meeting. This was bound to be a disaster, and he was kicking himself for appearing so transparent. They might be polite to him, but they sure as hell didn’t actually  _ want  _ him there. It had just been so long since he had gone out anywhere that wasn’t for errands. He missed having friends to relax and joke around with. He also knew that Granger and her friends were definitely not a decent substitute, but his very being had screamed not to be left behind while she went out and had fun. 

He hadn’t realized how lonely he was until he found himself in her company every day. The days would pass in a blur while they worked, and he would find that he was almost enjoying himself. Then she would leave, and he would be alone in that big cavern of a house again where his footsteps echoed through the halls, and he felt just as empty as it’s large rooms. Draco was unable to keep the misery from flowing back into him then, which is why the rain and the thunder always came back with a vengeance every time she left. He couldn’t possibly admit that to her though, and he was at a complete loss as to how to fix it on his own. He didn’t want to  _ need _ anyone, and yet he was finding himself very dependent on the last person he ever thought he’d want for company. Granger was smart and soothing, and there was something so incredibly sexy about the way she could command control of a task. He was so torn between the feelings he knew he was having and the knowledge that he should not be feeling them for her. Granger was here for work, he kept reminding himself. She didn’t actually  _ want  _ to spend time with him, this was all just part of her job. He was her assignment and nothing more, and he had to remember that.

Despite all of this, Draco found himself following Granger to The Leaky Cauldron to meet her friends that evening. He felt really self-conscious about his appearance, but she had given him a sort of Muggle sweater with a hood and told him to put it on and pull the hood up, insisting that nobody would even notice. He had tied his silver hair back so that it was hidden and kept his eyes downcast and his hands in his pockets as they weaved their way through the tables. Draco didn’t look up at all until they stopped in front of a booth, and his heart leaped into his throat before plummeting into his stomach when he saw Harry bloody Potter and the Weasley girl sitting there. He felt the thunder rumbling through his bones as well as heard it, and he tried desperately to squelch the magic. A small hand reached out and took his, giving it a comforting squeeze, and his gaze darted to Granger in surprise. She gave him a reassuring smile and prodded him toward the empty bench across from Potter and Weasley.

“Malfoy,” Potter greeted him as he sat, raising his beer in salute.

Draco nodded in return, feeling like he was caught in some kind of warped dream. “Potter.”

Weasley watched him with a calculating gaze that reminded him of many of the Slytherins he had known over the years. “It’s nice to see you out and about, Malfoy.”

He cleared his throat and mumbled his thanks before ordering a whiskey from the waitress when she bustled over. This was definitely surreal, he thought as he sipped his drink in silence as the three friends chatted over inconsequential things. He was barely paying attention to the conversation until he heard a comment about Quidditch, and his ears perked up.

“I can’t wait until we can play again,” Weasley was saying. “I feel so out of practice, and I’m so bored sitting around the house.” 

“You play?” Draco asked her curiously. 

Weasley raised her eyebrows at him. “I play for the Harpies. I thought everyone knew that.”

Draco felt himself flush. “Well, I haven’t paid much attention to the goings-on in the Wizarding World lately. Okay, it’s been years,” he admitted with a sigh. 

Weasley shrugged. “I can’t say I blame you. Most of the time it’s nothing worth knowing anyway.”

“So, er… your team hasn’t been playing lately?” Malfoy asked, trying his best to keep the conversation going. 

“We haven’t been able to play with this weather. All the matches have been canceled until further notice. I mean, we’ve all played in storms before, of course, but combined with the complete darkness it would be a disaster!” Weasley said, and then she jumped and looked accusingly at Harry. “Harry, ow! Why did you pinch me?” Her eyes went wide as it finally sunk in and she looked back at Draco. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Malfoy! I wasn’t thinking. I don’t blame you, of course, I know you’re trying!”

Granger cleared her throat loudly and glared at Weasley. “Thank you, Ginny,” she said in an overly loud voice. 

Draco downed the rest of his whiskey and leaned back in his seat. He felt like an idiot. What exactly had he expected? A warm hand touched his where it rested on the booth between him and Granger, and he turned his hand over to twine their fingers together. He let it soothe him and did his best to ignore the fact that she was likely only doing it to keep him from spiraling out of control. Draco chanced a glance over at her and was surprised to find she was looking back at him, an odd intensity in her brown eyes that he couldn’t quite place. 

The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. Draco had mostly kept himself out of the conversation unless he was asked something directly. He was surprised to find he didn’t mind being there like he thought he would. Granger laughed a lot with her friends, and the sight of her sparkling brown eyes and her chiming laughter did odd things to his insides. She had also kept her hand atop his until their dinner arrived, and he had felt its absence much more strongly than he cared to admit. When they finally left the restaurant, he allowed her to apparate them both to her flat so that she could pack some of her things. Draco looked around her neat and orderly sitting room with curiosity as he waited for her, taking in the pictures she had on display of her friends and some strange frozen photographs of what he assumed to be her parents. He felt a bizarre nervousness buzzing inside him as he paced the beige carpet. Granger was going to be sleeping at his house. He had invited her to stay there indefinitely. There hadn’t been anyone besides himself and Moppy in that house since his mother left, and he realized he was glad for the company. 

Granger came bustling back up the hall and into the sitting room with a large shoulder bag slung over her arm just as his thoughts started going down a familiar treacherous path. She smiled brightly at him, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. “Ready! I think I’ve got everything I need, but of course, I can just pop back over if I’ve missed something. Shall we?”

Draco nodded and held his arm out to her. She grasped the crook of his elbow, and they left her tidy flat behind. 

Upon their arrival at the manor, he led her upstairs, and through the long stretch of the corridor to the guest room he had Moppy prepare for her. 

“This is your room,” Draco said, gesturing at the closed door. “You should have everything you need, but you can always call Moppy for assistance.”

Granger nodded. “Thank you, I’m sure it’s fine.” 

She didn’t move to open the door right away, just lingered there watching him, and he had the odd sensation that she was waiting for him to do something. Why did he feel like he had just walked her home after a date, and they were now dancing around a good night kiss? Draco cleared his throat. “Right then, goodnight, Granger.”

He walked about 4 paces down the corridor to the next door and looked back at her. She was still watching him with a faint smile playing on her lips. Draco waved awkwardly at his door. “Er, this is my room, so you could also knock if you need something.” He felt a flush rising up his neck and he hurriedly slipped into his room and shut the door behind him. Why did Granger always manage to make him feel like an idiot when she wasn’t even doing anything? And why had he been so desperate to kiss her just now? 

Draco lay awake for over an hour after he got to bed, very conscious of the fact that the woman he kept dreaming about was sleeping in the room beside his. 

**  
  
**

**Hermione**

Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was the deafening crack of thunder or the shout of agony that awoke her several hours later. She jerked upright in her bed and it took her several minutes to remember where she was. She slid out from under the sheets and ran into the hall without stopping for a robe or slippers. She paused only briefly in front of Malfoy’s bedroom door, unsure if she should intrude, but after another crack of lightning she decided that this sort of thing was the whole point in her being here so it was useless to linger outside his door. Hermione could barely make out Malfoy’s form on his bed in the dark shadows of his room, though she could hear him moving, tossing in the covers. Another deafening rumble of thunder had her hurrying over to the side of his bed. She knelt beside him and shook his shoulder, shrieking in surprise when he bolted upright, white eyes wide in the darkness surrounding them. 

“Lumos,” Hermione whispered, and her wand lit up the darkness surrounding them. Malfoy blinked at the sudden light and looked at her in confusion.

  
“Granger?” What’s going on?”

Her breath hitched as she became aware of how close they were sitting, and on his bed of all places, but she did her best to ignore it. “You were dreaming, and the weather’s gone all crazy again. It woke me up.” She grasped his hand and held it tightly. “You need to calm down, Malfoy. You need to get the magic back under control.” Malfoy squeezed his eyes closed, and she could sense how badly he was struggling to regain his feeble hold over his powers. He looked oddly fragile sitting up in this big bed, trembling with effort and she found herself reaching out to push his hair back from his face before she could think better of it. She cringed as soon as she did it, but instead of snapping at her, she felt Mafloy relax into her touch. This encouraged her to do it again, and she scooted even closer to him on the bed, stroking his hair and whispering soft affirmations to him until the storm stopped and he opened his eyes. Hermione felt an immediate fluttering in her stomach. Malfoy’s face was inches from hers and he was looking at her in a way that made her tingle all the way down to her toes. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. Hermione realized her hand was still in his hair and began to pull away, but he grasped her wrist, holding her hand to the side of his face. “Please don’t go,” Malfoy breathed, eyes closing briefly as though he was embarrassed by his request.

Hermione took in a shaky breath. “I don’t know, Malfoy.”

“Please,” he said again. “Sometimes I just can’t get out of my own head, you know? I fall so deep into my despair that I can’t see anything good at all. Just your presence helps me, but everything else you do? It’s everything I never knew I was missing.” 

She hesitated, feeling tears well in her eyes at his straightforward words, but still afraid to let her guard down completely. She bit her lip, searching his eyes for the truth. “If you’re trying to feed me some lines…”

“I’m not, Granger, I swear. We’ll sleep, that’s it,” Malfoy assured her, blushing faintly in the light from her wand.

Hermione nodded slowly, and this time when she removed her hand from his face, he let her. When they slept, it was side by side, arms touching across the expanse of the king-size bed.

The second time Hermione awoke, it was to birds chirping and sunlight streaming in from between the cracks in the curtains. She yawned and tried to stretch, only to be brought up short by a body pressed against her own. All at once, her awareness came flooding back to her and she stared in disbelief. Draco Malfoy was on his side facing her, his head on her pillow, and one arm slung over her waist. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, the perpetual frown that creased his features nowhere to be seen. Silver strands of hair fell across his cheeks, and she could almost see the boy he had been in the smoothness of his face. While it was shocking to wake up next to Malfoy, far more shocking was the appearance of the sun after nearly a month of darkness. They had never, in all of their work the last two weeks, been able to achieve this feat, and now here it was with absolutely no effort on their part. Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes, and so amazed was she over this development that she couldn’t even find it in herself to feel self-conscious about waking entangled in Malfoy’s embrace. She rolled onto her side to face him, pushing down the odd desire to just bask in his arms for a bit longer and shook his shoulder. His eyes opened slowly, lashes fluttering, and he bestowed a smile upon her that was so brilliant, her heart felt like it stopped in her chest momentarily. 

“Morning, Granger,” he mumbled, burrowing his face into her throat.

Hermione sucked in a breath as a spike of pleasure raced through her body and she resisted the urge to arch into him. “Malfoy, stop it,” she demanded, pushing at him. 

He released her immediately, his cheeks turning pink. “Shit! I’m sorry, Granger. I wasn’t thinking.”

She waved away his apology. “Don’t worry about it. This is far more important — Look!” She pointed towards the windows where the sun was still streaming through as if it had never left them. Malfoy was across the room and flinging back the drapes in a blink. Hermione squinted into the light and got up from the bed to join him. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, looking out of the expanse of the gardens she could now see touched by the golden sunlight.

“It is,” Malfoy agreed quietly. 

She glanced at him and was startled to find that he was looking at her instead of the view from the window. She bit her lip, and as his eyes tracked the movement she let out another surprised exclamation. “Your eyes!” His eyes, which were no longer a cloudy white, crinkled in confusion. She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry, it’s a good thing. They look normal again. Grey and clear, and I feel like I haven’t actually been seeing through to you until this moment.”

Malfoy took a step closer to her, his eyes darkening as he did. “And what do you see?”

Hermione reached a tentative hand up to his face and traced the line of his jaw. “I see what I didn’t dare to hope for,” she whispered as he leaned in, her eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. She felt the barest brush of his lips against hers before a knock on the door had them stumbling away from each other in surprise.

****  
  


**Draco**

Draco had never in his life felt such irrational anger towards any house-elf as he did towards Moppy right at that moment. His lips had touched Granger’s. He had been a mere tenth of a second away from a proper kiss, something which he had been wanting to do for nearly two weeks now. The electrical charge between them had been growing steadily the more time they spent together and he had gotten to the point where he didn’t want to ignore it anymore. She had clearly been interested as well since she had definitely leaned into it instead of shoving him away or running screaming from the room, and now, she was clearly embarrassed and avoiding eye contact with him at all as they sat in the sitting room with their oblivious guests. Weasley and Potter were grinning at them as though they had just bestowed the greatest gift upon him and Draco was using all of his willpower not to snap at them in his anger over his missed opportunity. In all honesty, it was a tempting offer, and he could see that it would do him no favors with Granger to be childish and refuse. No, from the way she was behaving, he was definitely not going to be able to pick up where they left off if he threw them bodily from his home. 

“So what do you say, Malfoy? Are you up for it?” Potter asked him with the barest hint of challenge in his green eyes. 

“Of course,” Draco answered immediately. “In fact, why don’t you invite everyone over here? I’ve got a pitch in the back garden, and there’s no danger of being spotted by Muggles.” Draco arched an eyebrow in his own form of challenge. He’d see if they were serious about the olive branch they were offering. 

“That sounds perfect,” Weasley chimed in when Potter hesitated before answering. “Did you want to invite some of your friends too? We can save room for them.”

“Er, no,” Draco said hurriedly. “I think it’s better if we don’t.”

Weasley shrugged and stood from her seat. “So tomorrow, then.”

After seeing Potter and Weasley back through the floo, Draco turned to Granger who was staring at him as though he was a puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out. “What?” he asked, moving closer to her. 

She shook her head. “I just never thought I’d see the day where you would be willingly inviting Harry and a bunch of other Gryffindors over to play quidditch.”

He smiled wryly. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day where you’d be willingly spending time in my company.” Draco took her hand in his and tugged her closer to him. He dropped her hand in favor of gently grasping her hips and dipped his head to her ear, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. “I also never thought I’d be so desperate in my desire to kiss you.” He felt her tremble against him and, encouraged, he dragged his mouth along her jawline, seeking her lips. 

“Malfoy, wait,” Granger said, pushing at his chest. 

He released her and stepped back reluctantly. “Was I too forward?” he asked worriedly. Maybe he had read her wrong. 

“No, it’s not that,” Granger said, blushing. “It’s just… well, I am supposed to be doing a job here, and I’d like to be able to sign off on it before I get distracted.”

Draco sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. “Is this the part where I tell you my deepest darkest feelings?”

“If that’s what’s necessary,” she said matter of factly. Without waiting for a response from him, Granger grabbed his hand and led him to the conservatory and then outside through the French doors and into the sunlight. She looked back at him with a brilliant smile on her face. “Merlin, I missed feeling the sun on my skin.”

Draco knew deep in his heart that the reason the sky had been devoid of the sun for so long was because he hadn’t wanted it there. It was too cheerful in his despair and his magic had banished it. Now though, seeing Granger’s face tilted up to the sky, the joy on her face and her curls full of coppery highlights lit up by the sun, he wondered how he could have wanted it gone. 

“What is it?” She asked him, her smile fading slightly. 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He reached a hand out and tucked one of her wayward curls behind her ear before meeting her eyes. “I was just admiring the view.” She opened her mouth, to protest or admonish him, he wasn’t sure, but he spoke again before she got the chance. “I think I’ve figured it out, you know.” 

“Figured what out?” 

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked past her, over the expanse of the gardens. “I figured out what was triggering my magic.” He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “I was… many things once the war ended. Confined to my home, my father in Azkaban, and then my mother fleeing the country. I both hated and pitied myself and I hid away from everyone I was ever close to. My father, for all his faults, was the only one I exchanged any communication with, and when he died…” Draco’s voice was raspy with emotion now, and he felt Granger come closer to him, putting a hand on his back. “When he died, I was truly left with nothing. I was so angry and in such despair that I couldn’t get away from it. Days and nights blended together and I didn’t want to be reminded of the time passing around me.” Now he did turn to look at her and was surprised to see her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Then you barged into my life and knocked down every wall I had erected around myself, and I realized how incredibly lonely I was. I thought I was keeping everyone out by creating all these shields around me, but all I ended up doing was trapping myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Granger whispered

Draco’s heart clenched, and he looked away from her sympathetic gaze. “You don’t need to be sorry. I know this is just a job to you.”

“No, I meant I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you were deserving of happiness.” Granger stepped in front of him and took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Yes, it was my job that brought me here and kept me returning at first, but it wasn’t my job that made me stay hours after we were done working. It wasn't my job that made me hold your hand or dream about you. I was hoping to stick around after my job is finished if that’s alright with you.”

He grinned and dipped his head to capture her lips. They were as soft and perfect as he imagined them to be, but the moment he moved to deepen the kiss, she stepped back from him. He groaned in dismay. “You’re killing me, Granger.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I’m sorry! I just need to say one more thing before I let you distract me.” Draco gestured for her to go ahead, and she bit her lip before continuing. “You should invite your friends for the game tomorrow. I know you feel like you’ve lost them, but I’m sure they’ve missed you as much as you’ve missed them. You’ve got to learn to live again, Draco.”

His heart felt like it skipped a beat when he heard his name fall from her lips. Draco nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it though it’s going to be a hell of a feat trying to explain all this to them.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head up toward the sunny sky. 

“What are you doing?”

Draco cracked an eye open to peer at her. “Shhh, I’m trying to work.” He returned his concentration to the task at hand, and in the next minute, he felt the rain on his skin. Draco opened his eyes and looked around in satisfaction. 

“Draco! What on earth —”

The rain was pouring down on them in a perfect circle while the sun still shone brightly throughout the gardens. He pushed his wet hair back from his face and grinned wickedly at her. “Well,  _ Hermione, _ it’s merely a study to see if I was right.”

“Right about what?” She asked, sounding breathless as he closed the scant distance between them and put his hands on her waist. 

Draco leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. “Right about you looking as fantastic in the rain as I thought you would.”

Hermione’s hands fisted into his shirt, and she whispered her response against his mouth. “You are such a little shit.”

His laughter was cut off by the fierce kiss she bestowed on him next. Mouths open, tongues twining together as he pressed her body as firmly against him as he could, the rain pouring down around them. 


End file.
